Slices of Life (a series of drabbles)
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: These are just a collection of drabbles requested from tumblr, gathered here so you guys can come back to them!
1. Drabble 1

April's pounding her fists on the door. Her tiny, bony fists that aren't going to do much good.

"Why the hell is this door locked?" she says, exasperated. She throws her arms down by her sides.

"Why are you getting so mad about it?" I ask, rolling over onto my side where I lie on the on-call bed.

"It never used to lock from the outside," she says, rattling the door handle. "Help? Is someone out there? Hello?"

"April," I scold, my voice firm.

"What?" she says. "The doors didn't used to lock from the outside!"

"A lot has changed since you've been gone, I guess," I say, and can hear the smug tone in my own voice.

"Stop it," she spits, walking away from the door and giving up for the moment. "Well, you didn't wanna be around me, but I guess now you have to."

"Someone will come by with a key," I say. "Plenty of people know I'm in here."

"Looks like we'll be trapped for a while," she continues, and her voice grows closer. She sits down on the edge of the bed near my head, and I sigh. "We might as well talk."

"April…" I grumble, sitting up. I don't want to be physically close to her right now. Her presence alone is infuriating; thinking she can come right back in here and pick things up where we left off. Marriage doesn't work like that. You can't just pick up and leave when the other person doesn't want you to go. She completely disregards my feelings whenever they don't work for her, and I'm tired of it.

"Please," she says. "What are you gonna do, ignore me the whole time we sit together in this tiny room?"

I can feel her eyes on me through the darkness. I say nothing.

"Really," she says. "Really, Jackson? You're gonna ignore me for who-knows-long?"

"I told you," say, turning my shoulders quickly to face her. "I told you what would be waiting for you if you went again. And I meant it."

In the soft light coming in from the window, I see her face waver and fall. "You… you didn't," she mutters.

"I did," I say. "And I'm tired of you taking what I say for granted. I mean the things I say. I meant it when I said that I loved you, did you?"

"Jackson!" she says, standing. "How could you…? You really think I don't love you? Seriously, is our marriage based on that little trust?"

I pause for a long time, staring down at the floor. Her feet are in my line of vision - small and tucked into her same old pink tennis shoes. I find myself wondering if she wore them for the entire tour in Jordan. I missed seeing them in a little line by the front door, waiting for her, so she must have.

"No," I finally admit. My voice is quiet. "I know you love me."

"I do," she says, taking a few steps forward. Our knees are in line now, but not touching. "I love you so much. And I'm back now, I'm back for good. Can we just… can we just try again? Please?"

I raise my head and look up into her face. Her expression is open and hopeful, but I can't piece together my thoughts for a coherent answer.

"Can we try?" she asks again.

In that moment, the lock clicks and Alex's face appears in the doorway. "Avery," he says. "They need you in the pit. Oh, hey Kepner."

I nod at him and shift my eyes back to her before standing. "I gotta go," I say.

Then, just like she did, I leave.


	2. Drabble 2

"Are you tired?" April asks me.

The clock on the microwave reads that it's past 1am. The rest of everyone who was here for game night is either asleep in the living room or back in their own home. Now, it's just me and April who are still up.

"Nope," I say. "I'm a night owl."

She smiles and shuffles the deck of cards between her hands.

"Are you?" I ask. "You're an early riser. You were up at like, 5 today, singing in the kitchen."

Her eyes widen. "You did not hear that."

"I so did."

She plunks her forehead on the table and I watch her shoulders bounce with giggles.

"I loved your rendition of Blank Space," I say. "You have a nice voice."

"Stop!" she says. "Literally, stop talking about it. Do you wanna keep playing?"

"Changing the subject on me…" I say.

"Jackson, shut up," she says. "Pick a game from the bowl. We'll play."

Earlier tonight, she wrote down a bunch of card games on little slips of paper and mixed them all up, and we'd been drawing from them all night. We played Go Fish, Phase 4, Uno and Old Maid. I dip my hand into the fishbowl and mix them around, then pull one out. I unfold it dramatically and clear my throat to read it.

"Strip poker," I say confidently, and watch all the color fade from her face.

"Wait, what?" she says. "I didn't write that… I definitely did not write that." She narrows her eyes towards the doors that lead to the living room, where a few people are sleeping. "It was probably Alex."

"We don't have to do it," I say.

She rests her forearms on the table and leans forward. "The rest of the games are lame," she says. "I just… don't know the rules. Teach me how to play?"

Something weird but regretfully familiar happens in my pants. She pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and chews on it, shedding her cardigan before I even open my mouth.

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself," I laugh.

"It's hot in here," she says, draping it over the back of her chair. "Okay. I'm ready to listen."

I sigh and let my eyes wander her face. "You sure you wanna do this?"

"Shut up, Jackson," she says. "You're ruining it."

I tell her the rules on autopilot, and she nods the whole way through as she understands them. We get our cards and I have an absolutely shit hand, so I shake my head and start to laugh.

"What?" she says.

"Nothing."

It's slow going. It starts with her taking off her socks, which doesn't do anything for me. I have to take my socks off, too, but I have nothing else before my shirt goes.

She giggles as I yank it off over my head, pulling one of her legs up on the chair to tuck it under her body.

"Stop laughing, dude," I say. "You won't be far behind."

I'm not wrong. She has no other choice but to take her shirt off next turn, and I can see that she's nervous about it. I don't say anything, though. I don't want to make it worse.

"Okay," she says, all breathy. She sets her cards down and does that girl thing where they cross their arms at the waist, then tug their shirt upward in one fluid motion.

It turns me on more than it should.

Then she's sitting there across from me in a pink-and-white striped bra. Just that. Her shoulders cave in self-consciously and I can see one little roll on her belly from the way she's slouching, but she doesn't chicken out. She keeps it off. She fixes the bra strap that was falling down her arm and shakes her hair away from her face. "What?" she says. "Stop staring."

"You stared at me," I say.

"Yeah," she says. "Well."

"Well," I echo. "Let's keep going."

As we continue to play, I can't stop staring at her chest. Nothing much is showing above the fabric of her bra, but it's just enough. Her breasts move slightly when she laughs, and I try to make myself less obvious. What's very obvious right now, though, is the tent that's being made out of my boxers when I take my pants off.

"You better not get one more…" she says, head tilting.

"Shut up," I say. "Really. Shut. Up."

She giggles, but eats her words next turn. Her pants have to come off, too. She stands up and meets my eyes as she lets out a long breath, then shimmies out of her tight leggings. Before she sits down, I take a second to look at her in her mismatched underthings - that bra and bright teal underwear that hug her hips just right.

"What?" she says, her mouth pulled up in a ghost of a smile.

"I - nothing," I say, directing my eyes back down.

"It's okay," she says, and still doesn't sit down. "Jackson," she says, even softer. I look up at her and she glances at the living room doors before taking a few steps towards me.

Completely catching me by surprise, she sits forward on my lap with her arms over the back of my chair. I can't believe this is happening - we'd been trying to forget about this.

Now I know that it's been impossible for her as it was for me.

"It's okay."


	3. Drabble 3

I lean against the side of the car, getting some air on this suffocatingly hot day, while Jackson goes inside and pays for the gas in cash. I can see him standing at the counter from where I am, fanning my face with my hand. He's smiling politely at the cashier, who happens to be cute blonde girl.

I furrow my eyebrows and my sweaty forehead crinkles. Jackson is counting his money while looking down at it, and the girl is staring at him while giggling. I feel heat rise in my stomach, and it's more than just the sweltering temperature out here.

Jackson is obviously attractive. The amount of attention that he gets from women is borderline ridiculous, and most of the time it doesn't even register with him. He's blind to it at this point, but I'm not.

I pinch my lips together and let a long breath out of my nose. Why is he taking so long? What could possibly be so ultra-important and time-consuming about paying for gas? We should've just used the card. If it meant we could've avoided this, I would've paid. I offered to, anyway.

I bang my hand on the side mirror, having an inner battle with myself. Eventually, my rationale loses and my feet start in the direction of the glass door, marching like they're on a mission.

I burst through and Jackson's attention flits to me, but the girl keeps her eyes on him.

"Hi, honey," I say, all sickly-sweet. The air conditioning is nice in here, but it's abruptly cold compared to the air outside. "What's taking you so long?" I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist, plastering my body to his. "I missed you."

Confused creases appear on his forehead as he looks down at me, moving a piece of sweaty hair off my forehead. "Just been right here," he says. "Paying."

"Well, hurry," I say, then turn my face and stick my jaw out in a gesture he knows all too well.

He complies and gives me a cute kiss on the cheek, squeezing my shoulders as he does so.

"Here's your change," the cashier says, the flirty light died from her eyes.

"Thank you," I say, smiling at her. "Come on, baby. Let's go."

We walk out of the little building and back towards our car, and he jostles my body by where he still holds me by the shoulders. "What the hell was that all about?" he says.

"Nothing," I reply. "I got lonely out here."

"Uh-huh…" he trails off, then gasps. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

"No," I snap, way too quickly. "Stop it. That's stupid."

He starts laughing. He knows he's right and I know he's going to rub it in my face. "You are _so_ jealous!" he says, a wide grin on his face.

"No, I'm not!" I insist.

" _Hi, honey_ ," he mimics in a high-pitched voice, batting his eyelashes. "Marking your territory much?"

"Stop…" I whine, shoving his chest. "She was basically undressing you with her eyes."

"She was not," he says, scoffing.

"She so was."

"And you'd know, because you do it all the time," he murmurs, pinching my waist.

"Shut up!"

"So you admit it," he says, hands on my shoulders now. "You were jealous."

I narrow my eyes at him and scowl. "You're not getting anything out of me."


	4. Drabble 4

The boards went horribly. Why my mother had to be in the room next to mine, proctoring loud enough to hear through the walls, I'll never know. But it was enough to torture me and get me off my game, that's for sure.

The only silver lining about this horrible day had been April. April, and me… in the men's bathroom, doing what we really shouldn't have been doing.

But that didn't help with my concentration, either. For the rest of the day I kept thinking about how she felt, what her body looked like, and how I'm the only one who's ever seen her in that light. Even just thinking about it now, heading back to my room, I know I'm going to have to get in the shower.

This is not okay. She's my best friend.

But she wanted me, she initiated it… it was something we did together. I shouldn't feel guilty. We haven't had a chance to talk, and I don't know when we will. I get the feeling that she's avoiding me.

I sigh as I slide the key card into my door, and frown when I see the lights already on. I take a few steps in and see that my bed is unmade, and not only that - there's someone in it. Someone facing the wall, and all I can see is a shock of auburn hair and bare shoulders, trembling with sobs.

I clear my throat and she gasps, turning around and holding the sheet up to keep herself decent. "Um… April," I say. "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"

She looks at me with wide, tearful eyes. "What are you doing in here?" she counters back.

I hold up the key card. "This is my room."

She glances around, assumably taking in the sight of my suitcase, discarded pajamas, and toiletries for the first time. "Oh," she murmurs. "I… I'm sorry. I was- I was crying, I couldn't see… for some reason my key worked… I don't know." She makes a move to leave, but then realizes she's not clothed and stays put.

"And you're naked because…?" I say.

She shakes her head, avoiding my eyes. "I couldn't bear to be in those clothes anymore. I hate them. I hate everything about this day."

I kick my shoes off as she wipes the runny makeup off her cheeks. I shed my suit jacket and walk towards the bed, and she watches me the entire time. "Everything about it?" I ask.

Her eyes scan my body and she absentmindedly pulls her lower lip into her mouth. I've come to realize that it drives me absolutely crazy when she does that; I feel myself getting hard already. With the lip bite, the slope of her shoulders, the angle of her jaw… all I'm doing is picturing the rest of her.

"Maybe not everything," she whispers, blinking softly.

I lower myself down onto the bed and sit next to her, and I can feel her eyes on me as she watches my every move. I know she's wondering what's going to happen next, because I am, too.

"So the rest of your test didn't go well?" I ask, looking over.

"No," she says. "Yours?"

I sigh. "Nope."

There's a short pause between us. "When I went back in there, I just felt like they _knew_ or something," she says. "I was thinking more about the creases in my stupid jacket and…" She lowers her voice. "The fact that I lost my underwear."

"Oh, about that," I say, digging in my pocket. I pull out a pair of white, lacy bikini panties and hold them up. "I found them after you left."

Her eyes widen, then she collapses down onto the pillow with her hands covering her face. She groans, but it soon turns into giggles and I can't help but join her.

"You were the only good part about today," she says, removing her hands. "I… I think I wanna feel that again."

I'd been waiting for her to say it. I didn't want to assume anything, and I didn't want to be the one to push. But now that it's out there, I don't waste time. I undo the buttons on my dress shirt and push my pants off to the floor, then get under the sheet with her.

When our lips touch, electricity shoots through my entire body at a lightning-quick pace, continuing to buzz at my nerve endings. Nothing about these kisses is tentative, and her hands are everywhere on me. I return the favor, gripping her waist tight in one hand and rolling her over onto her back from her side, dipping my head so I can kiss the warm, soft skin of her neck.

"Mm," she moans, fingertips gently running down my sides. Everything about her is gentle, much gentler than she was with me last night. I saw an entirely different side of her that I have to admit, I hope I'll see a lot more of.

I lower my head to her chest, running my thumb over one of her nipples as I kiss along her collarbones. Once it's puckered and tight, I take it in my mouth and suck on it, which makes her trap my hips between her thighs. She runs her hands over the back of my hair, and I feel her take a shaky breath in.

"You okay?" I murmur, lips moving over her breast.

"Yeah," she answers, tracing the shell of my ear.

"Are we gonna do this?" I ask.

I feel her nod, then look up into her face. She takes my cheeks in her hands then presses her lips to mine meaningfully. "Just one more time," she whispers.


	5. Drabble 5

My heart is beating a mile a minute. Everyone has evacuated out into the parking lot, but I don't recognize any of these faces. I don't know anyone well enough to care that they're okay. I know one thing for certain from all this mess: Charles and Reed, two of the three that I brought with me from Mercy West, are gone.

The only other person I'm thinking about is April. April Kepner, my coworker turned friend, is the only person I care about right now. All I'm doing is picturing her curled into a ball, bleeding out in a corner after being shot point-blank by that crazy piece of shit.

"Has anyone seen April?" I ask, to no one in particular. They're not listening, though. I don't stick out enough to them. They don't know who I am. I'm not a part of this family at this point, at least that's what it feels like.

I can't find comfort in them like they can from each other. The only person who I want to see is April. I feel like I'm about to fall apart, and I need someone familiar.

She always knows what to say to make someone feel better. Personalized and tailored, she gives the best advice. And while her voice is usually insistent and high-pitched, she can be incredibly soothing when the situation calls for it. She is exceptionally maternal and protective.

Goddammit, I just need to know she's okay.

"April?" I call out, but everyone is too loud. I can barely hear myself over the police sirens, dispatchers, and other voices, so I doubt she'll be able to hear me. I keep trying, though. "April?"

I push my way through the crowd, shedding my lab coat as I go. It's not necessarily hot out here, but I've started to sweat from nervousness. With every passing second, I feel like she's gone. I feel like something horrible has happened, and I didn't do anything to stop it.

God, I hope she wasn't alone. Just a few seconds ago, I was hoping for her to comfort me when we meet up. How selfish could I possibly be? What if she's traumatized? What if something terrible happened to her?

I shake my head at myself and continue to push through people. "April?" I call out again, and this time I swear I hear a response, so I call again. "April?"

"Jackson?" Her voice is a small peep, far away. But I make my way towards the source, carefully navigating through everyone huddled around.

Finally, I make it to her. She's in her scrubs, just like I am, with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She's trying to peer above the crowd - I see her before she sees me.

"There you are," I say, my body flooding with relief.

Her head turns and she looks at me, then immediately starts sobbing. I wrap her up in my arms, I think this is the first time I've ever hugged her, and no one's ever held me as tight as she does right then.

She buries her face in my chest and cries, I can feel her tears melt through my shirt. "I got you, I got you," I say, donning the soothing tone that she uses. I stroke the back of her head as her body trembles against mine. "I almost lost you," I say quietly.

She digs the pads of her fingers into my shoulder blades. "I… I had a gun pointed at me," she sobs, now squeezing the material of my scrubs in her fists.

Her words hit me like a blow to the face, but I don't ask her to elaborate. Not yet. She doesn't have to relive it right now. "You're safe now," I tell her, and I want to make sure that she believes it. "We're safe, we're fine, we're together. We made it out."

She sniffles in and loosens her grip on my clothes by just a little. "We're safe, we're together," she repeats. "Okay. Okay. Can you just… not go?"

"I'm here," I say. "I'm here for as long as you need me."


	6. Drabble 6

"April?" I call out, resting my arm on the stair railing. I know she's upstairs in her room; she came home a few hours ago after a really long shift. She might be asleep, but this is urgent. "April?"

I hear nothing in response. I roll my eyes to myself and twirl the wrench in my fingers, waiting a few more seconds. "April…" I call again, dragging out the syllables in her name.

After receiving no answer once again, I trudge up the stairs to get her myself. I pass Alex's room, my room, then get to hers. I knock on the door three times and hear a grunt from within. "What," a sleepy voice answers.

"You up?" I ask, ear against the door.

"Does it sound like I'm up," she grumbles.

"Well, you're talking," I say.

"Jackson," she says. "What is it."

"I need your help with something since you're awake," I say, now resting the wrench against the door.

"You _woke_ me up," she says.

"Either way," I respond. "Can you come downstairs?"

There's a long pause, then a sigh. "Be down in a sec," she says.

I smile to myself as I walk back down to the kitchen, resting against the counter while I wait for her. When she appears, she's in little black sleep shorts and a tank top, her hair in a messy bun on top of her head as she squints against the early evening sunlight. All of us are on weird hours because of our shifts, so I can't blame her. I just really need her help.

"Pray tell me what you need," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"I can't fit under the sink, and there's a leak," I say. "And also, you're the only one I trust to do this. Can you imagine Karev even attempting to do anything mechanical?"

April is a genius with household fixes. It's probably due to the fact that she grew up on a farm, or it could be attributed to the fact that she's just simply a badass.

"Sure," she says, laying her hand out flat. I deposit the wrench in it. "Spot me."

She gets down onto the floor, sighing softly as she goes. She inches her way inside the cupboard that holds the sink pipes and arches her back to get comfortable, and I furrow my eyebrows as I look down at her. "You find it?" I ask.

"Yeah," she grunts, her feet flat on the floor as she pushes herself up a little further. "It just needs be tightened." She giggles a little bit and her tank top rides up more, and I find myself staring at the strip of her belly that's showing above her shorts. "Are you seriously telling me you woke me up just to tighten this, Jackson?" She laughs again, and I can picture her shaking her head. "Are you really that incapable?"

"One, yes," I say. "Two, you know you wanted to spend time with me."

"I could've done that in the morning," she says. "Or at the hospital."

"But now's better," I say, letting my eyes roam from her belly down to her thin legs where her knees are pressed together as she tightens the screw.

"Whatever," she says, inching out from under. "Okay, useless. It's fixed. I'm going back to bed."

"Aw, come on," I say, grabbing around the waist. She plucks at my fingers, but I won't let her free.

"Jackson," she whines. "I need my sleep. I just worked for like, two days straight."

"Have a beer with me," I say. "Like a good little plumber."

She smirks at me, spinning around in my arms to gently tap my chest with the wrench. "Fine," she says. "One beer. But let me go, ass."


	7. Drabble 7

There's almost no better feeling than that of Jackson's body pressed against mine. Well, except for the feeling of his lips on my skin, or his hands all over me or… okay, there's a lot of things. But they're all pretty amazing.

Right now, I'm still breathing hard from the orgasm he gave me and his mouth is open on my neck. Though our climaxes are over, he's still inside me and his chest is heaving atop of mine, and I don't want him to move. I run my fingernails over what I can reach and linger at the dimples on the small of his back, leaning my head to the side as he pulls my skin between his teeth.

My heart is pumping so hard I barely know how to handle it. He's the closest he can possibly be to me, yet somehow I want him closer.

"You're amazing," he mutters.

I smile. He says something along those lines every time we finish, but I don't get tired of hearing it. One of the best feelings is knowing that he could have his choice of any woman, yet he chose me. And of course, I chose him. Now that we're together, I can't picture myself ever being with anyone else.

I must still be grinning when he lifts his head to look at me, because he asks, "What are you so smiley about?"

I force my lips back over my teeth and turn my head to one side, my chin to my shoulder.

"What are you smiling about, dimples?" he asks, poking my cheek.

"Stop, stop, stop," I say, swatting his hand away and laughing.

"Am I squishing you?" he asks, pulling out and settling between my legs more comfortably.

"Yes," I say, smoothing my hands over the muscles in his shoulders. "But I like it."

"That's good," he says, kissing my cheek. "Because I don't plan on moving."

"Ever?" I ask.

He shakes his head, saying, "I'm here for good."

My hands drift from his shoulders to rest on either of his cheeks, framing his perfect face in my grip. HIs words reverberate within my mind - he's here for good. And so am I. That same smile comes back to my face as I run my thumbs over his stubble, then uncensored words tumble out of my mouth. "Marry me," I say quietly, and can hardly believe I said it.

His eyes widen and his lips part just slightly. "Wait, what?" he says. "Are you serious?"

Am I? I'd like to think I am. My mind is fuzzy with bliss and how hard I just came, but I don't regret saying it. I know he probably would've liked to be the one to ask, but he can't always get what he wants.

"Yeah," I say, and pull his face down so we're nose-to-nose. "Marry me."

Our teeth click together as we smile through a kiss, but it doesn't matter. "You're out of your damn mind," he says.

"Maybe," I reply, winding one leg around his. "Are you gonna say yes, or what?"

"I say…" he trails off. "Yes. I say yes."

I raise my eyebrows and squeal as he rolls me over to sit on his stomach, leaned forward with our foreheads resting against one another. "I love you," I say.

"You seriously want to marry me?" he asks.

I nod, feeling his grip around my ribs tighten. "I seriously want to marry you," I say. "More than I've ever wanted to do anything."

He laughs and holds the side of my face as he kisses me. "Good," he says, then pauses a moment before continuing seriously. "I can't wait to be your husband," he says soberly, running one hand down my hair.

"And I can't wait to be your wife."


	8. Drabble 8

It's a slow night in the ER. The whole gallery is practically empty, save for a few cases that can be taken care of by the clinic. So because of this, I've taken advantage of my free time and started stocking the inventory to the utmost level of perfection.

The only things I have left to stock are gauze pads. I only have a few left, but I know that the supply closet in the next hallway over has plenty. I take my time walking out of the ER to stroll through the quiet lobby to get them, thinking about how glad I am that I'm here instead of at home.

The apartment is so lonely without Jackson there. It's big and cavernous and full of modern, uncomfortable furniture. It doesn't help that everywhere I look, I'm only reminded of the two of us being there together. We'd been happy there once, together. It hadn't lasted for long, but it was amazing. Being married to him was amazing, and no matter how much it hurts me now to be apart from him, I'm glad it happened. I wouldn't take it back for anything.

The squeak of my shoes on the linoleum brings me back to the task at hand as I pull open the door to the supply closet. As the small room floods with light, I hear a clang and a shuffle, and my eyes adjust to the brightness. Someone must be in here already, but why with the lights off?

"Have you seen the… _oh_ ," I say, eyes widening.

It's not just any old someone in this closet. What I'm looking at is a very familiar, muscular back - very bare, very toned. I used to see this back first thing every morning when I'd roll over and open my eyes.

It's Jackson, and he has a nurse pressed against the wall. She's in almost the same state of undress that he is.

My mouth hangs open and I stumble backwards out of there. "Oh- I'm- I'm sorry," I say. "I just had to- I can go somewhere else, I'm… I'm sorry."

I turn around and speed walk away from the scene, my eyes burning with the onset of tears as I stare down at the colors shifting on the tile floor.

Then I hear my name.

"April!" It's sounding from behind me, but I don't look back.

I'd know that voice anywhere, just like I'd know that back. And I don't want to hear whatever he has to say, so I pick up the pace. I'm at a quick clip now.

"April!" he calls again, and judging by the volume he's gotten closer.

I ditch the walk and start to full-out jog. I want to get as far away from this confrontation as I can, and he's not making that very easy.

"Leave me alone," I throw over my shoulder.

"Slow down!" he says, and his footsteps quicken.

I come to the end of the hallway and am forced to turn around. I don't have another option - I've reached a dead end and he's the one who put me here. I can't help but chuckle to myself when I realize how ironic and true to life this situation is.

"I don't wanna talk," I grumble, finally lifting my eyes.

I scrunch my face up when I see that he left the closet without bothering to put on any more clothes than I saw him in. He's shirtless with the zipper of his dress pants undone - he must have been at a board meeting earlier. I know those pants. Those are his business meeting pants, and he used to be so anal about ironing them. I'd make fun of him relentlessly for it.

"I didn't want you to see that," he pants. "I didn't want you to-"

"Well, I did," I say, clapping my hands together.

"I didn't want this," he insists.

"What, you standing in front of me in the hospital without a shirt on and your fly unzipped?" I ask, my voice rising.

He glances down and zips himself up hurriedly, then looks at me again. "No. I don't care about this. I didn't want our next interaction for you to be interrupting me with a nurse in a closet. I was off my game, I needed someone-"

"You needed to have sex to get concentrated again, I get it," I say, making pointed eye contact with him. "It's not like I can forget your tics."

He opens his mouth, then closes it. "Well, I didn't want it to be her," he says.

"Real nice," I say. "I'm not gonna talk about this with you." I try and breeze past him, but he stops me by my shoulders. "I just needed gauze pads," I say, shaking his grip off. "I was in the middle of stocking."

"They can wait," he says. "April, listen to me. Please, god, just give me a second. Hear me out."

I let out a deep sigh and straighten my shoulders, looking him square in the face. "What."

His shoulders deflate as he exhales loudly. "I'm not proud of…" He looks down his half-naked body. "This. I don't like you seeing me like this, thinking of me like this. I'm not this guy… you-you know that. I don't have sex in supply closets-"

"No, you always did like the on-call rooms better," I mutter, and his response catches in his throat, interrupted by a surprised laugh.

"Yeah…" he says. "Touche." There's a slight pause. "April, I don't want it to be like this between us. We work together. You're telling me we can't even be friends?"

"I never said that," I say. "But even so, I don't like seeing my _friends_ having-"

"I know," he says. "I know. I didn't want that, either. More specifically, I didn't want _you_ seeing that. I knew you were around, I knew it was a risk, I was stupid."

"Yes, you were," I say, and our prolonged eye contact tells me that we both know how far my words reach. "And so was I."

He blinks slowly, smiling softly with the corners of his lips turned down. I take a step towards him and give him a shove with both hands planted on his chest - his skin is warm, smooth and familiar.

"Go put a shirt on," I say, walking in the same direction.

"Never heard you tell me that before," he says under his breath.

I look up and elbow him in the ribs. "Shut up."


	9. Drabble 9

I hurry to campus, hitching my backpack higher on my back as I let out a big yawn. I compulsively check the time on my phone and see that if I don't hurry, I'm definitely going to be late to biology.

I pick up the pace and squint against the rain that's just beginning to spritz from the sky.

"Great," I mutter to myself, shielding my glasses with one hand. There's nothing more unattractive than spotty, foggy glasses.

As I wait for the traffic sign to switch to 'walk,' I rub my eyes and yawn again. I got about two hours of sleep last night, and that's rounding up. I was studying for the biology midterm that I'm heading to right now.

I have a 4.0 average, but this class has been the hardest one for me to date. It's my first year of college, and high school bio was never this hard. I've never struggled in school, and I don't like the feeling.

But as I walk into the class building, I tell myself that I can do it. Confidence is half the battle.

I find the seat I always sit in and plunk down, all of my stuff collapsing down around me. I rest my elbows forward on the table and barely notice the people to either side of me, I'm too caught in my own world today. But the same people always sit in the same seats. It's an unspoken rule in college.

I blink hard and prepare my mind for the exam. But when the professor comes in and tells us she'll be giving a short lecture before the midterm, my vigor fades. I hadn't prepared for a lecture alongside it. Even so, I get out my notebook anyway and poise my pen at the top of the page, ready to take notes.

My notes start out nice, but my handwriting suffers as my eyelids begin to droop. I shake my head to wake myself up, and it works for a little while, but not for long. I catch my head falling until I snap it back up, squinting my eyes shut tight before opening them wide again.

I got this. I can stay awake.

But I soon find out that no, I definitely _don't_ got this and I can't stay awake.

When I wake up, people are filtering out of the classroom and the lights are low. I have one arm stretched straight out with my cheek resting on it, and it's totally numb from the weight.

"Oh, my god," I say, quickly picking my head up. I look around. There's no one else in my row besides the guy sitting next to me. "The midterm," I say, standing up so my rolling chair gets pushed back to hit the table behind mine. "I missed the midterm!"

I look around desperately for the professor, but she's already gone.

"Oh, my god," I groan, plopping back down and burying my face in my hands. "I'm gonna fail this class. I missed it. I can't believe I fell asleep and missed it."

"You didn't miss it," a voice says, and I look to my left.

The boy who sits next to me every day, who's never said a word even in passing to me, has spoken.

"What?" I say, voice waterlogged with tears.

He holds up two clickers, the gadgets we use to select our answers from the multiple-choice test given on the projector. One is his, obviously, but I recognize the other as mine.

"I answered for you," he says, shrugging. "Looked like you had a hard night. I didn't want you to get a zero."

My mouth drops open. "You… you did that for me?" He nods, still shrugging, trying to play it off as no big deal. "But you don't even know me."

He sets my clicker in front of me and I pick it up, holding it with both hands.

"I know a hard worker when I see one," he says, standing up and gathering his things. "And you don't deserve a bad grade."

I continue to stare at him. I don't think I can stop. I didn't know there were people in the world who still actually cared about others. No less, ones who look as good as he does.

"Whether or not I did all that great," he says, half-smiling. "Well, I guess we'll find that out on Monday."

I laugh, though I'm still incredulous. He pulls his backpack over one shoulder and waves at me as he walks towards the door.

"See you around," he says.

"Wait!" I exclaim, standing up. "You have to let me thank you. Let me… I don't know, let me take you out for frozen yogurt or something. Tonight. After my midday class."

He raises his eyebrows. "Frozen yogurt?"

"I'm underage," I mutter.

He tips his head, contemplating. "Frozen yogurt it is," he says. "Pick you up at 6."

I furrow my eyebrows. "But I'm thanking you," I say. "So, shouldn't I be the one to-"

"Pick you up at 6," he says with a smile, then walks out of the classroom.


End file.
